


thoughts of you consume

by angelwriter



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining (Good Omens), 6000 Years of Slow Burn (Good Omens), Ambiguous Aziraphale and Crowley Relationship (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Desire, Desperation, Emotional Crowley (Good Omens), Falling In Love, Ineffable Husbands Week 2019, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, Lust, M/M, Pining, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Romantic Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 01:29:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20537927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelwriter/pseuds/angelwriter
Summary: Lust was a fickle business but at least you knew what you wanted out of it. It was easier. Bodies united until both are sweaty and satisfied. Even if it lasts a day, two minutes or centuries. It was a physical act of craving their flesh.Love on the other hand was far worse.





	thoughts of you consume

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts), [Nimravidae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimravidae/gifts).

> This piece of writing happened abruptly while I was reading a GO fic myself. So thank you Nimravidae for your fic 'tangled up in you all night'. You inspired me. 
> 
> Also major thanks to Drawlight. I have read all your works and as always it is such a pleasure to read. Please never stop writing! You are truly fantastic. 
> 
> The song that covers the entire theme of this work is War of Hearts by Ruelle which the title comes from.

I want to sit and watch someone. Write poetry about them. Map out every inch of their skin. Feel their heat sinking into my bones. Tear and cut and grind every part of me to fit into their corners. Twist myself every which way so I could stay inside of them and never leave. I would paint every arch of their neck, the sharpness of their collarbones, the cutting-edge slice of their cheekbones, their soft, luxurious lips that pouted in a rose pink, golden hues of their tanned skin, the fiery tendrils of their hair blowing in the breeze. The dangerous magnitude of my desire for him shown for all to see. 

Lust was a fickle business but at least you knew what you wanted out of it. It was easier. Bodies united until both are sweaty and satisfied. Even if it lasts a day, two minutes or centuries. It was a physical act of craving their flesh. 

Love on the other hand was far worse. 

You never know what the other side is. You never know if you alone bear the weight in your chest that pains as you look at them. You never know if they can see the way you look at them that displays more than you wish to allow but cannot help but share. You do not know if they feel the agony of waking up desperately needing their presence, or sleepiness nights crying out so loud your throat catches fire with all the love that has been raging inside of you begs to be spoken. 

You do not know. And you are too afraid to ask. 

Silence is golden only to those who see it wiser to not ruin it. But those are normally the ones who are screaming in their heads. Convincing themselves that everything would end if they ever uttered the truth. 

Aziraphale is one of the few who cannot and will not speak. Forcing it down with food and wine until it sloshed inside of his stomach, distracting himself with other earthly pleasures than the lust of flesh or intimacy of any kind. He sits next to the one he craves and he busy himself with stuffing his face all the while aware he is being watched and judged. He offers Crowley to eat and share in his meal, but he never does. It is always common courtesy. 

Aziraphale knows all too well this dance that they do together. I will sit here and eat while you shamelessly watch me. I will offer you tempatioan of gluttony and you will bear witness to it. You will not partake of it. You will not ask me about my indulgences. I will ask you to lunch and you will ask what we will eat. But only I eat. That is how it is. 

When Crowley started asking him to lunch Aziraphale readily declined. It felt as if it meant something more given the past and the impending doom of humanity. They were on two sides and although they had found a common ground in the Agreement, Aziraphale made a promise to himself that what happened in Soho that night in the Bentley during the 60s would never happen again. 

The words that came out of his mouth before he could stop it. He half prayed Crowley understood what he meant and then half prayed that he didn't. He could recall every single line they had said to each other over the course of their existence on Earth. The line "You go too fast for me" had to be his favourite. There under the illumination of the neon signs of the nightclubs surrounding them, the orange and pink hues washing over his face, his eyes saying things he never voiced. 

Crowley looked like a red haired Freddie Mercury with his rounded black frames and chopped hair. More like one of the missing members of the Beatles in fact. Crowley looked horribly disappointed and it took everything in him not to give in to his request of Crowley driving him anywhere he wanted to go. They could escape somewhere together, somewhere alone, private, where perhaps Aziraphale could tell Crowley- or better yet show him how he felt since the Beginning. 

What he would give to just disappear all together with the demon by his side. 

Wanting was madness. Especially wanting what you cannot have. It led to endless misery. He tried to not want him. Not to stare at him too long. Over the centuries and centuries, he sort of fell in love with him. He did not want him to hurt, he wanted to protect him, shelter him. Most of all Aziraphale wanted him to be his. They started off as opposites, two enemies fated to be together on Earth. Once the Arrangement was created, they became friends almost and whether it was like that for Crowley or not, Aziraphale knew that they became much more than that, deeper than either of them could explain or really talk about. 

They were two halves of the same being at the end and although it had taken so long to get to this point, now there was the The-Armageoddon-That-Wasnt maybe just maybe they could end up in each other's arms. There was a certain marriage between them, a connection neither could deny. It had been an extremely long journey, many times Aziraphale had thought they were destined to part, to be forbidden from each other and that perhaps his love was placed in the wrong person. 

Yet when they ended up deciding to live together in South Downs in a nice little cottage, they discovered that the dance was still continuing - the usual way they tried to join together now drawing to its completion. They were tied to each other and as they came together one night silently in the darkness, Aziraphale stark white naked and glowing against the dark silk sheets of their bed, they played off each other. His feather-light curls. Crowley's hot-heated hair. Aziraphale's beige waist coat. Crowley's grey scarf. The snake skin shoes and brown leather boots. The glistening azure eyes and glittery golden serpentine irises. 

Darkness rising and light meeting it. Crowley was black - the colour of coal and soot and burnt angel wings, singed books in the flaming bookshop and glasses covering his eyes that shielded him from being read. The shadows creeping from under the bed and looming over the two supernatural beings - and Aziraphale was white - this was his colour, the purity, innocent nature, the clean slate, forgiveness, fluffy clouds and meringues, a chance to start over again. They seemed to bounce off each other - dark and light playing a game - this was how they moved together. 

Lips on lips, broken and bruised. Hands gripping, tearing, marking marks. Whispers of secrets untold. This was where they could be free. This was where the blinding light could not get them. This was where the shadows could not consume them. They devoured each other, blending in, becoming one. They absorbed their blood into each other, their breaths mixing, their hands entwining, their limbs twisting like vines. Never enough. Not as close to each other as they needed to be. Even though their were joined with their bodies, no part of their skin had not been touched. This yearning was insatiable. Knowing their skin was like peeling it off and matching it to your own and finding it fit. They wanted to live inside their infinite minds and soak in their blood all to feel their presence in ways that transcended human conception and reason. 

It was reckless. 

Abandoned and forsaken. Their names howled off each other's tongues like a prayer, like a promise. Like a declaration of maddening unquestionable devotion. One taste was all it shook to shatter themselves in two and merge together. A thousand words could not silence their pleas. Nothing in Heaven or Hell or The In Between could stop them from wanting each other. 

No matter the war between their hearts that had told them that maybe they weren't meant to be. The molecules and atoms and cells that made up Crowley also made Aziraphale. They were part of the dust and stars that Crowley had helped forge. The same hands that crafted the stars skimmed all over every line of Aziraphale's aching, shivering body. 

Aziraphale physically ached in his bones. It was an out of control, feverish behaviour that entirely consumed him in thoughts and deeds. There was fire in his lungs as he cried out for the man he was not supposed to love, but could not help but love. He would die without this connection. Crowley was made for him. He knew it. He always knew. 

No matter what worlds or entites or oceans carried them apart - they would find each other. 

They would love each other. 

Again and again. 

Timelessly.


End file.
